I've been sort of quiet this summer. Not because I haven't had anything to say -- more because I haven't wanted to say the things that needed to be said.
Cryptic much?
Really, there's nothing going on. No earth-shattering revelations to share. I've just been avoiding myself. I've been lazy.
About 6 months ago I heard about a program being offered at Kripalu -- a yoga retreat in the Berkshires. The program is called Devotion: Crafting Your Journey Inward Through Memoir. Here's a snippet from the description:
"How do we begin to know our own stories, an"d tell them in a way that feels universal? How can we structure our inward journeys so that they resonate with others? In this interactive workshop, we will explore multiple aspects of writing a memoir."
I talked about wanting to go. Then I talked some more. Then I put off registering. Then I put it off some more. Then I forgot about it for a while. As the dates drew closer I agonized about going. Should I spend the money? How will I figure out childcare while I'm away? What if it's too hard? Scary? Awkward?
The program is in less than a month. I finally picked up the phone yesterday, to find out if there were still spaces left. To be honest, I was hoping it would be full. I wanted the decision and responsibility to be taken from me. I wanted to curse my procrastination and then get back to making dinner and preparing for a possible Hurricane Irene. I wanted to stay safe.
There are spots left.
I sighed and then went back to making dinner and thinking about how I should probably pick up some hurricane supplies (even though we're out of the cone for a direct hit). I herded the kids to bed, played Words with Friends, chatted with Rich and went to sleep.
And I dreamed. I dreamed about writing. About how it was what I wanted and needed. I dreamed about telling my story.
I woke up at 4:30 a.m. and tried to convince myself that I'd rather take a photography class; to learn to focus outward instead of inward.
Then I thought about how I would feel if I failed to take this opportunity. I'd feel like a coward.
I dragged my bleary-eyed self to the computer, and at 5:00 a.m. this morning, coffee in hand, I registered, paid, and declared myself a tiny bit courageous.
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